Head Over Heels
by Cece
Summary: AU. Ken moves into the busy streets of Tokyo and finds himself rooming with four super models who are intent to help him capture the eye of their neighbouring redheaded hottie. Choas ensues when he realizes this Aya isn't who he seems to be. RanKen.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Ken moves into the busy streets of Tokyo, and finds himself rooming with four super models. They are determined to transform Ken from the plain 'boy-next-door' to the hottie, they are sure is hidden underneath. But who to impress? How about that passionate-looking redhead, who lives in the apartment building next to them?

Author's Notes: Based on the movie, "Head Over Heels" starring Monica Potter and Freddie Prince Jr.

Warnings: Swearing and yaoi; Ran x Ken, and a surprise pairing :)

* * *

**Head Over Heels**: 

Chapter One:

"Don't hog the ball!"

"He's open! He's open!"

"Watch where you're -- Uh... Running..." I wince a little, watching from the sidelines, as a freckled redhead tripped over his opponent's feet and fell flat on his face.

I'm currently spending a beautiful Saturday afternoon with my little league soccer team who are currently playing -- and losing -- against a team from a community not far from us. Exasperated, I collapse on a metal bench beside a girl in a frilly, pink dress (yes, she's one of my players) as the referee blows his whistle a final time.

"Did we lose, Coach?" Taylor asks, walking towards me with his bloodied finger hidden in his fist.

Taking out a first-aid kit from my duffel bag, I sigh and reluctantly inform him, "Yes, we did."

"Can we have ice cream?" the girl in the frilly dress inquires, sweetly.

I reward her with a little chuckle. "Susie, you guys need to _win_ before I can treat you to ice cream."

"Oh," she responds, pouting.

After dealing with Taylor's injury, I get up from the bench, rumpling Suzie's head as I walk towards my disheartened team. "Hey, you guys were great out there! You played against a tough team. But we can kick their butts the next time we met, m'kay?"

"Can we have ice cream?" the redhead asked, limping towards the rest of the team.

"Coach says we hafta _win_ first, Archie," Susie states, mildly.

"Don't call me Archie," Don exclaims, scowling. I try to hide my smile when Susie responds with a "That's what my mum calls you" in a lowered voice.

I clap my hands together to get everyone's attention. "You heard what the little lady said. No ice cream until you win!" A collective groan echoes amongst the children.

"Coach, we haven't won since the Cardinals forfeited their match with us three months ago," a brunet with his cap on backwards, states wisely. "And they woulda kicked our asses if the restaurant they went to just before hadn't given the whole team food poisoning."

Beside me, Taylor grins mischievously. "Hey, we could always slip a little something into the Cougars' water bottles next week when we play them. Then can we get ice cream, Coach?"

I arc my brow at my group of kids. Children these days get more and more corrupted each year. "Erm, how about I just treat you to ice cream today? You know, in exchange for a game that you win _legally _in the coming future." Expectedly, my suggestion was answered with a great 'whoop' from the team. To tell the truth, it really isn't as if I don't want to treat the team to ice cream after every game. But most of the time, if not _every _time, my wallet sends me this psychic message, telling me that my budget for the week has been used up. This time though, I think I can make an exception.

I have been coaching the soccer team for the past two and a half years, so I really don't have a much of a budget. Luckily, my boyfriend, Kase, came from a wealthy family who doesn't seem to mind paying for our montly apartment expenses. Even so, my weekly paycheck usually ends up going towards groceries which can be a lot if you could only imagine just how much Kase can consume in one meal.

After baby-sitting my team for another hour, I was finally free to go along with my plan to surprise Kase with his favourite meal: McDonalds.

* * *

"I'm home," I call to the seemingly empty hallway. As a kick off my sneakers without bothering to align them with the others, I notice another pair of shoes stacked neatly in our shoe shelf. Tucking the take-out bags in one of our kitchen cupboards so the guest won't see, I walk down the hallway towards the bedroom I share with Kase. I knock, gently, before entering and taking a peek inside. 

"Kase," I call, softly, searching the room for a tall, muscular man with a weeks-old stubble and ketchup stained t-shirt. "Are you in?"

"Y-yes. I'm here." From the adjoining bathroom, emerges an unrecognizable Kase dressed from head to toe in sleek, iron-pressed, and stain-free clothing. My eyes widen even further when I see that his stubble has been replaced by smooth, clear skin. Smiling in satisfaction, I walk towards him and reward him with a small kiss on his clean cheek.

"I see you've finally cleaned yourself up like I told you," I say, grinning widely and baring my white teeth.

Kase chuckles a little nervously in response. "Well, you know. I just wanted to do something special for my schnookums," he says, kissing me on the forehead.

Arching my brow at the unusual pet name, I proceed to rummage through the drawers for a clean shirt. "Whose shoes are those outside? Do we have a guest?"

"G-guest? Uh... No, no guest." I turn towards him in confusion. Kase appears to be looking at anything except me.

Walking towards the bathroom, I ask, "Then whose shoes are those outside? They're pretty flashy. Are they new? They seem to be a little sma --"

"Hey," Kase runs towards me, attempting to block my path. "You thinking of washing up?"

Frowning at him in annoyance, I shove his body out of my way. "Yeah, like I usually do. I'm sweaty and stinky. I need to shower."

Wrapping his arms around my waist, Kase rests his chin on my left shoulder, breathing in my scent. "Are you sure you want to do that now? We could be doing _other _things, ya know..." I roll my eyes as he starts placing kisses up my neck and up the rim of my ear, slipping his large, tanned hands beneath my jeans.

"Yeah, yeah. We can do that later. _After _my shower," I state, flatly, shoving my perverse boyfriend away. "I have McDonald's in the cupboard. Go eat."

"McDonald's?" Kase's face lights up, in a way a dog's would when being given a bone to chew on. The mention of his favourite food has him loosening his hold on me immediately.

Quickly, I dash towards the bathroom before he could change his mind. Behind me, I hear him yelp and scream _"no!" _just before I slam the door in his face and lock it. I laugh out loud when he pounds on the door and begs me to come out. I guess his hormones must be pretty active today for him to want it this badly.

Turning around, I notice a silhouette crouching behind the shower curtains. My mind brings me immediately to the small fancy shoes by the door, Kase's immaculately kept outfit, and his reluctance to let me use the shower. Walking tentatively towards the shower, I shove the curtains away forcefully to reveal a pale, naked body topped with a fine, blond head, crouching in the bathroom tub and looking up towards me with his alluring hazel eyes. It only takes me a minute to recognize him from the men's fashion magazine Kase had brought home with him two weeks ago.

"Oh, I see how it is," I say softly, before stomping out of the bathroom. After passing a speechless Kase, I head towards the kitchen and open one of the cupboards. With the two uneaten McDonald's combos in hand, I stuff my feet into my sneakers, open the door, and stride purposefully out of the apartment.

... To Be Continued.

* * *

Author's Notes: 

To those who may have read it before, this is a rewritten version of my fanfic "Head Over Heels". You may notice my writing style has changed completely since the last time I updated, so even though I'm going to stick with the same basic idea, the story will be totally revamped. To those who have actually been waiting for new chapters... I'm really sorry! I hope you'll continue to support me by reading this version as well.

Feedback in any form is welcome.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Ken moves into the busy streets of Tokyo, and finds himself rooming with four super models. They are determined to transform Ken from the plain 'boy-next-door' to the hottie, they are sure is hidden underneath. But who to impress? How about that passionate-looking redhead, who lives in the apartment building next to them?

Author's Notes: Based on the movie, "Head Over Heels" starring Monica Potter and Freddie Prince Jr.

Warnings: Swearing and yaoi; Ran x Ken, and a surprise pairing :)

* * *

**Head Over Heels:**

Chapter Two:

"He's not worth it."

"...I know," I respond, sniffling. My best friend, Yuriko, sighs and hands me another kleenex.

"I bet the kid really isn't as pretty as you made him out to be," she says, rubbing her hand on my shoulder consolingly. On the small television set at the corner of her bedroom, _Bridget Jones' Diary_ plays statically on the screen.

Glaring at the intimate scene between Hugh Grant and Renee Zellweger, I sniffle some more and blow my nose on the fresh kleenex before crumpling it up and throwing it away in the waste basket, adding to my new collection of mangled and gooey tissue. "I didn't say he was pretty, I said he was _hot_. He came straight out of a fashion magazine!" I clutch Yuriko's flowery comforter to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut as a wave of emotion passes through me.

"Well," Yuriko begins, thoughtfully. "Didn't I say that Kase wasn't the type to think with his brain?"

I send her a sheepish smile. "You mean he'd rather think with his _other_ brain. The one situated in the lower half of his body." At this, she laughs out loud.

"Men are bastards," she states, plainly, giving me a meaningful look.

I arch my brow at her. "Then wouldn't that make me one, too?"

She waves her arm, heedlessly. "You don't count. You're usually the girl in the relationship anyway."

Giving her a disapproving and affronted look, I say, "I prefer the term _submissive_. I'm no girl."

"Details, details," she responds, giggling into her hand. Jumping out of the bed, she hops towards her dressing table to grab the half-eaten pint of Haagen-Dazs ice cream. "This calls for an excuse to get fat!"

"You mean an excuse for _me_ to get fat," I say, grabbing the ice cream away from her greedy, junk-food loving hands. "I'm the one who got dumped." I take the spoon being offered to me and scoop out a large chunk of vanilla ice cream, stuffing it into my mouth as I watch Yuriko proceed to dig in after me. "If we're such bastards, why do you put up with us?"

Yuriko pauses in her attempt to stuff her mouth with the largest scoop of ice cream known to history, and scratches her head contemplatively. Smiling, she says, "I guess it's 'cause your kind's too cute to give up on. No matter _how_ frustrating you are." Gesturing to the television set, she growls at the screen. "How the hell did someone like _Bridget_ get a man like Mark Darcy anyway?"

"Maybe you need to fatten yourself up, after all," I say, chuckling. "That or you need to start smoking and overindulge yourself with alcohol."

"But I do that anyway," she exclaims, indignantly.

I hand over the carton of ice cream and squeeze her boney arm, pointedly. "Then get fat."

* * *

Despite Yuriko's attempts to convince me to live with her, I set out for an apartment-hunt the very next day. After touring about the city's condominiums and turning down several offers for shared apartments, I arrive at a tall complex that appears to have been built only recently. Glancing down at the crumpled flyer I had ripped off a lamp post earlier this morning, I silently wonder why anyone living here would need to rent out a spare room. Studying the perfectly clean, ceiling-high windows, and considering the district the complex is situated in, I begin to wonder if the rent really _is_ only ¥20, 000 a month. Gripping the handle of my duffle bag, tightly, I approach the front steps of the building.

The only person in the lobby is an old security guard, sitting behind a desk with his feet propped up, reading a magazine in a bored and careless fashion. Gripping the flyer, I approach the man cautiously.

"Erm, I'm looking for a Tsukiyono Omi in room 1801," I tell the man, when he looks up inquiringly.

He gives me a suspicious look when he hears the room number. "What are ya here fer?" he asks, studying me from head to toe.

"Uh," I respond intelligently. "I'm responding to a flyer. It says they're looking for a roommate." I hand over the crumpled piece of paper and he takes it.

After skimming the flyer, he turns around and pushes one of the many buttons on the intercom attached to the wall. "Tsukiyono! Someone's here ta rent yer room."

After a moment of silence, a cheerful voice responds with an _"ok!"_ and the security guard turns back towards me, and gestures towards the elevators straight ahead. "On the 18th floor, can't miss it. S'the only room on that floor."

_The only room?_ I nod my head and mutter a "thanks" before heading towards the elevators, but not before I overhear the security guard grumble, "Those _pansies_ rentin' out a _room_ fer Christ's sakes." As I wait for the lift, I wonder what sort of people they might be if they're able to afford an apartment that takes up a whole _floor_.

The elevator gives a soft _'ping'_ and the doors open. However, before I have the chance to take a step inside the lift, I find myself sprawling on the newly polished floors of the lobby. I realize a second later, with my head throbbing from the impact with the solid floor, that a large... _thing_ is slobbering its digusting saliva all over the front of my face. Faintly, I hear the panicked voice of the owner of this monster.

"Doug! Bad dog! _Bad_ dog," he exclaims, reproachfully. I feel the pressure on my body lift when the man tugs the manic canine away forcefully. "I'm _really_ sorry about that! Are you okay?"

Blinking several times to clear my head, my eyes slowly focus on the figure looking down at me with a worried gaze. "Hey, you okay?" he asks again.

"I-I'm okay," I answer, reassuringly, lifting myself up with the man's offered assistance. "You should really train that dog of yours," I say, glancing up at the man's face and widening my eyes in disbelief.

He shakes his head and smiles warmly at me. "He's not mine. I'm just walking him as a favour for a friend." I can only nod, stupidly, in response as I stare at the bright, red hair framing his beautifully pale complexion and amethyst-coloured eyes. I attempt to give the man's body a discreet and casual once-over, barely managing to keep a gasp from escaping my mouth from what I see. The man's choice of attire for the day differs greatly from my own. I gulp nervously as I think about how _uncool_ it is wearing a T-shirt and jeans while standing beside a perfectly groomed man, wearing an impeccable black suit over a deep, red, button-down shirt.

Raising my eyes to his once more, I feel the heat rise to my cheeks at the intense, but sincere, look he gives me. Looking into the deep purple of his eyes, I lose the strength in my legs and collapse onto the polished floors again.

"Whoa," he exclaims, picking me up off the floor for the second time. "I hope Doug didn't do any damage to your legs," he says, frowning at the doberman, currently yipping at the security guard.

Spread my lips in a tentative smile, I say, "N-no, no damage done. T-Thanks for helping me." The redheaded beauty turns back to me with a soft expression on his face and I attempt to swallow down my agitation. Glancing down, I realize that his large, perfectly-manicured hands are still clutching my wrists protectively. Seeing the blush creep across my cheeks again, the stranger glances down and releases his hold immediately, averting his eyes to the security guard currently using his magazine to swat Doug away with little success.

He turns back to me with a hint of a smile on his beautiful lips. "Guess I'll see you around, then," he says, nodding his head and turning around to free the red-faced security guard of the doberman's deadly slobber.

For a moment, I forget the reason why I entered the building in the first place, but the _'ping'_ of the elevator jolts me back to reality.

* * *

"The living room and kitchen will be shared among the five of us, and it's been decided that the laundry room would be given to you since none of us need to do laundry anyway," Omi, my potential roommate, says as he begins to lead me down the narrow hallway, filled with eight doors on either side. Curiously, I wonder how anybody would need so many rooms in an apartment. Omi proceeds to walk all the way down to the end of the hallway and unlocks the last door on the right, swinging it open to reveal a very bleak but well-kept room. 

"We figured it wouldn't hurt to make some extra cash out of this clos-- er, _room_," Omi continues, quick to correct his little slip. "I hope it isn't too small for you." Indeed, the room is much smaller and less impressive than the other rooms I've seen in the loft. However, I think, the room could be easily spruced up with a few of my favourite J-League soccer posters.

With that in thought, I toss my duffle bag carelessly onto the squeeky mattress situated at the corner of the room in a slightly rusty bed frame. "S'good enough for me," I say, turning to the small blond with a wide grin.

The boy's blue eyes widen and and he smiles in return. "Excellent," he exclaims. "Rent will be collected on the first Sunday of every month, so you still have a few days before you hand me the first payment. Remember, the price includes everything from internet access to electricity. None of us actually eat together during meals because of our work schedules but you're welcome to take anything from the kitchen if you're hungry. Don't worry about the groceries. We've hired a maid to do that for us."

"You guys have a maid?" I ask in surprise, thinking that my new roommates must be pretty well off to afford one.

Omi nods his head. "Of course! None of us are ever around long enough to take care of this place, much less shop for groceries. Although now that I think about it, it _has_ been a long time since I last saw Isabella," he trails off, distractedly. "You probably won't see her much, either. She usually comes while everyone's gone so we won't get in her way when she cleans."

I nod my head in response, wondering if I'll ever be able to adapt to such luxury. Omi's eyes brighten up again and he immediately scurries out of the room, insisting he make some tea. Smiling at his enthusiasm, I follow the blond out of the room at a slower pace, taking my time to admire the abstract paintings decorating the hallway.

When I reach the living room, my eyes immediately fall on a young boy sitting calmly on one of the leather couches. His brown eyes rest on me at the same time, studying me with a calculating gaze. "Hello," he says, with a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Who are you?"

"Nagi," Omi greets with a wide grin as he walks out of the kitchen with a tray filled with four tea cups, a tea pot, and a small platter of biscuits. "Meet our new roommate, Ken! Ken, this is Nagi. He lives here, too." Gracefully, he sets the tray down on the coffee table and proceeds to fill three cups with tea.

"Hi," I greet a bit nervously, stepping a few feet closer and extending my hand. Hesitantly, he grasps my hand lightly and nods his head in acknowledgement.

"Where are the others?" Omi inquires, sipping at his tea. Eagerly, I make for the biscuits.

Nagi takes a sip from his own cup. "They should be here soon," he says, with a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"Ken," Omi exclaims, quickly changing the subject. "So what do you for a living? Is your work place nearby?"

I scratch the back of my head, sheepishly, as I seat myself on the leather sofa adjacent to the couch, suddenly feeling a little self-concious. "I work full-time as a sports instructor for a few middle schools and high schools in the area, but I specialize in soccer so I have a part-time job coaching a little-league team as well."

Omi's blue eyes widen in amazement. "So you're an athlete? Wow, that's fantastic! I'm not supposed to take part in vigorous activities, but I'd love to see you play some time."

"Why aren't you supposed to play?" I ask, curiously. I realize now that Omi and Nagi are not only small in structure, but somewhat delicate as well. The tones of their skins are very pale, unlike my sun-bronzed skin, and their bodies are scrawny and effeminate.

"It comes with the job, I guess," Omi explains, forming his lips into a little pout. Nagi doesn't respond and continues to sip at his tea, silently. I am about to ask Omi what he meant when the entrance door swings open with a resounding _'bang'_! The three of us jump at the sudden intrusion and stare at the lanky, yet somewhat muscular, newcomer.

"I'm home," he calls out with a lazy drawl, to no one in particular. Before I can catch a glimpse of the man's face, he swishes his body around and heads for the kitchen.

"Welcome back, Yoji," Omi responds, cheerfully. "Our new roommate's here!"

"Already?" the man named Yoji exclaims in disbelief. At the same time a second man strides through the door with a confident air about him, his long flaming-red hair swishing behind him as he went.

"Omi," he commands, authoritatively. "Get me snack. I'm tired." With that, he flops himself onto the leather sofa, opposite me.

Scowling, Omi says, "Get your_self_ a snack! I'm not your maid!"

But Omi's reprimands go unnoticed, as the long-haired man stares at me with a suspicious look. "Who've we got here?" he asks, jutting his chin in my direction with a friendly smirk.

"Hey," I smile back, waving my hand in greeting. "I'm Ken. I'll be living here for the next little while." Something in the back of my mind tells me that I've seen this man somewhere before, but I can't seem to pinpoint exactly where...

"I'm Schuldich," he says, grinning wider and baring his perfectly white teeth.

"I'm Yoji," the man from before says loudly, waltzing into the living room in a similar fashion as Schuldich. My eyes take in his familiar appearance immediately. The man has shoulder-length, wavy, brown hair and green eyes, and his body is clothed in a completely out-of-my-budget ensemble, much like the outfit he was wearing in that fashion advertisement I saw the other day, hidden in one of Yuriko's not-so-secret picture album of guys that fit her dream description.

Realizing a little too late that I'm staring at Yoji with my mouth open, I clamp it shut and cough into my hand, conspicuously.

"S-So," I begin, blushing furiously. "You're all... models?"

...To Be Continued.

* * *

Author's Notes: 

Thank you very much to everyone who left a review for the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one as well.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Ken moves into the busy streets of Tokyo, and finds himself rooming with four super models. They are determined to transform Ken from the plain 'boy-next-door' to the hottie, they are sure is hidden underneath. But who to impress? How about that passionate-looking redhead, who lives in the apartment building next to them?

Author's Notes: Based on the movie, "Head Over Heels" starring Monica Potter and Freddie Prince Jr.

Warnings: Swearing and yaoi; Ran x Ken, and a surprise pairing :)

* * *

**Head Over Heels**

Chapter Three:

"Yeah," Omi exclaims, nodding his head in confirmation. "The four of us are models! Erm... I meant to tell you that..."

"What do _you_ do?" Schuldich inquires, reaching for a biscuit.

I glance at the lot of them, clearing my throat nervously. "I'm a soccer coach --"

"You're a soccer player?" Yoji demands, right before he takes a long swig of milk from the large milk carton he is holding. 

"Don't drink milk so carelessly, Yoji," Nagi scolds him lightly. "You'll gain too much body fat."

The wavy haired man wipes his milk mustache away and sends him a wide grin and a wink.

Studying each of my new roommates one by one, I attempt to make sense of the situation. Clearing my throat once more, I ask again, "You're all... models?" 

"'Course," Schuldich grins, reaching for the last biscuit but not before Nagi snatches it away. The redhead scowls at him before regarding me once more. "It'd be a waste to the modeling world if this hot piece of ass wasn't around to grace their presence."

"Your scrawny ass is more like it," Yoji responds, seating himself on the arm of the sofa I'm sitting in. Wrapping his muscular arm around my shoulders, he says, "So what brings you to this part of Japan, Ken?"

But I don't seem to hear what the others are talking about. Instead, I scowl at everyone out of spite and spit out, "My boyfriend just _dumped _me for a model." To my right, I hear Omi let out a surprised gasp.

Arching his brow in disbelief, Yoji asks, "Hey, you swing that way too? That's great! You know, most of us in the entertainment world --"

"Yoji! This isn't the time," Omi scolds, exasperatedly.

"Uh," the lazy redhead, currently sprawled across the leather sofa, speaks up. "What did this model look like?" Next to Omi, I notice Nagi fidgeting with his hands. He directs me an agitated look before quickly lowering his eyes to his lap.

After a moment of silence, I say reassuringly, "It wasn't any of you if that's what you're wondering." Suddenly, the four of them let out their breaths at once in relief. Rolling my eyes, I shrug Yoji's arm off of my shoulders and walk towards the ceiling-high windows. The previous building I lived in with Kase was not situated in such a high floor as this one so we were spared the unpleasant sight of, what I like to dub as, Smog City. Fortunately, our view of Tokyo's sea of buildings is disrupted by a neighbouring apartment complex which appears to be just as well-kept as ours.

"Ken," Nagi's quiet voice interrupts my thoughts. "The four of us are going out for dinner. Would you like to join us?"

Food? "That'd be great," I respond enthusiastically. "Can we go to Moss Burger?"

Nagi regards me with a confusing stare. "Is," he begins, unsure. "Is that suppose to be a joke?"

Stopping in my tracks and studying the young boy's small frame, I realize that a person like Nagi must never have eaten a Moss Burger in his life. Wrapping my left arm around his shoulders, I tell him wisely, "Nagi, someday I will bring you to a place that will feed you Japan's finest creation." 

* * *

"I'm home," I announce, shutting the door behind me and slipping my sneakers off of my feet. Kicking them aside, I wander into the expansive living area which I now call my home.

"Welcome back," Omi exclaims, scurrying past me with nothing but a long flimsy red shirt adorning his body. "Nagi! Can I borrow your pants again?"

Hiding my eyes and reddening cheeks behind my hand, I slowly make my way across the living area.

"Which ones," Nagi asks, his voice floating from his bedroom to my left as I stride towards my own at the end of the long hallway.

"The black one with all the buckles! They're really comfortable! More so than the ones I usually wear."

After throwing my dirty clothes into my laundry basket, I walk towards the bathroom with a towel and a clean pair of track pants.

"But you already wore them. I was just going to throw them away."

"I'll just wear them one more time. Did you wash them?"

I lock the bathroom door behind me, listening to my roommates' muffled conversation without much thought.

"Why would I wash them?"

"Er... I think that's what people usually do after they wear their clothes."

"Really?" Nagi pauses then asks curiously, "Is that why Ken needs to use the laundry room?"

Rolling my eyes and letting out a frustrated huff, I enter the shower stall and turn on the hot water. Stretching my neck out, I start rubbing the bar of soap into my hand, gathering a handful of soap suds, before rubbing them across my skin. As the hot liquid washes away the day's accumulated body fluids, I begin to wonder just how my life with four super models will be like from now on. Not only taking into consideration the fact that we've been living in completely different worlds, how will I be able to cope with sharing an apartment with four grown men who can't even do their laundry?

After my much needed shower, I step out of our shared bathroom, running towards my bedroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around the lower half of my body. Kicking the door shut and running the towel across my body to quickly dry it, an idea reaches my head. My stomach growls in protest and I decide to grab some grub along the way.

"Omi, Nagi," I call as I walk down the hallway towards the living area. I hurriedly make a direct right to the kitchen and towards the fridge to see what Isabella had picked up earlier in the day. It feels very much like living in a luxurious hotel with a built-in kitchen and I decide that it will probably be easy adapting to such a luxury.

"I think they're getting ready for tonight, KenKen," a voice, deeper than either of the two boys I was speaking to, drawls lazily from the living room. I jump, startled, and spin around to regard Yoji who must have returned from work while I was in the shower. He regards me with a questioning look, his tens-of-thousands-of-yen-sunglasses still perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry, Yoji. Didn't realize you were home." Turning back to inspect the contents of the fridge and finally deciding to make a quick sandwich, I start moving items to the counter in front of the fridge.

I look up again as I start slapping together slices of whole-wheat bread and cold cuts. Yoji is looking at me now with a deeply offended expression on his beautiful visage. I suppose he's the sort of person who catches people's attentions immediately when he steps into a room and isn't use to people not noticing his presence. Somehow, I realize I should start getting use to this sort of behaviour from my new roommates.

Skirting a very unwanted argument with the man, I pretend not to notice his reaction. "Is it possible to make a list of things for Isabella to buy at the grocery store? It seems she didn't think to get some mayonnaise."

"Mayonnaise," Yoji asks in surprise, his previous thoughts now entirely forgotten. "Why in the world would you want mayonnaise?"

I stare at him, dumbfounded, and glance down at my sandwich for affirmation. "'Cause I wanna make a sandwich and I always eat my sandwiches with mayonnaise." Yoji looks at me now with disgust plainly written on his face as if I just suggested we eat a gourmet meal made with a mixture of moldy cheese and last year's beans.

"Are you aware," he begins slowly as if speaking to a child. "That a mere teaspoon of mayonnaise contains approximately," he pauses for emphasis and I look on in exasperation. "12 grams of fat _and_110 calories?"

I shrug in annoyance and return my attention to the sandwich that I still think desperately needs some mayonnaise. "You wouldn't have to worry about calories and fat if you had my sort of lifestyle, Yoji." And with that, I take a large bite out of my sandwich and walk briskly towards one of the couches, settling down and flipping through the TV guide lying on the coffee table.

Yoji shakes his head as if my antics are causing him an unwanted headache. "You're from a different planet, KenKen."

I'm about to retort, my mouth full of chewed up pieces of bread, lettuce, and meat, when Omi and Nagi walk in, announcing their presence loudly with their heavy shoes thumping loudly on the tiled floor. The two young boys appear ready for a wild night out and I realize, to my utter disappointment, how completely outclassed I seem to be.

"Sorry Ken," Omi starts, walking towards the living room and settling down on the sofa ajacent to me. "We heard you calling us before but we weren't ready yet. Was there something you wanted?"

I regard the boy, who doesn't look a year past 16, with his innocent blue eyes and blond hair, wondering exactly what he is planning to do tonight and whether or not he'll have a chaperone with him. I notice he is wearing the pants he was talking to Nagi about earlier and realize Nagi may still be planning to throw them away. Remembering my previous thoughts, I swallow my sandwich politely.

"I was just gonna say that maybe you and the others could forgoe throwing your unwanted clothes away. Regardless of what you may think, there are people who would probably love to wear your hand-me-downs. We can donate them to some charitable organization or even sell them and donate the proceeds to charity."

Nagi walks up to us and stands beside Omi, and they share a bewildered look. "Why would people want to wear used clothing, Ken," Nagi asks me, his eyes expressionless as they regard me with utter confusion.

"Well, 'cause maybe --"

"Don't even bother asking," Yoji cuts in and I glare at him with a huff. "The guy was just telling me earlier he eats his sandwiches with _mayonnaise_." He eyes the other two boys with a knowing look as if to say, _Yeah, our new roomie's a little crazy but let's humour him_.

"Okay, just wait a minute and let me expla --"

"I'm home," Schuldich announces, slamming the door behind him and striding into the room purposefully. He looks at Omi and Nagi expectantly. "What the hell you two standing there for? Your dates are ready for your inspection."

Their eyes light up, completely forgetting the conversation at hand, and they race towards the door, sliding open the large, rectangular, peep hole, and squealing in delight whilst whispering to one another excitedly.

With my mouth hanging open in surprise, Schuldich nods at me in greeting, smirking all the while. He tilts his head, gesturing to the two young models, turned squealing high school boys.

"Wanna have a go," he inquires, giving me what suspiciously looks like a lear. Behind me, I hear Yoji stride eagerly towards the door as well.

"Wha... what in the world is going on," I demand, staring after Omi and Nagi who now seem to be engaged in a small argument.

Schuldich heads back towards the door, pausing only to regard me with a look. I realize I'm suppose to be following him. Looking at my half-eaten sandwich with regret, I put it down on the polished coffee table, making a note to clean it up later lest Yoji takes a fit, and follow the lanky redhead obediently.

"Stand aside, little boys," Schuldich demands loudly, spreading his right arm out in a sweeping motion. Yoji gives him an irritated look and Omi looks ready to argue with him but he turns his back to them, arching his eyebrow at me.

Gingerly, I step forward to peer into the large, rectangular peep hole. Excited squeals much like the ones Omi and Nagi were making earlier meet my ears, but these ones are magnified by the sheer number of girls, young and old, lining up just outside our entrance. The women's ages appear to range from anywhere between 20 and 45 but all are completely decked out in fashionable clothing, shiny jewellery, and what is probably expensive perfume if my nose has anything to say about it. To the left is a small clutter of men in expensive suits of varying colours and polished shoes, lined up and waiting politely with either large bouquets of flowers or intricately wrapped boxes of brand-name chocolates in their hands.

Stepping away from the madness, I stare at my roommates. "And they are...," I prompt, my mouth hanging open intelligently.

Schuldich grins at me. "They're our dates for this evening. It _is_ a Friday night, after all. Though you're far from looking your best right now," he trails off, analyzing me up and down as if making a point. He lays his pale hand on the small of my back and shoves me gently back towards the peep hole. "First, just pick and choose whoever you'd like, dear, and we'll go from there. You like boys right?"

Sputtering incoherently, I push myself away from the door and away from my crazy, redheaded roommate and his dangerous lear. "I'm _not_ gonna go on a random date with some random guy," I exclaim in outrage. 

"Why the hell not," he demands, looking at me as if I've sprouted two heads. Beside him, Omi and Nagi ignore my outburst and proceed to pick out the wealthiest and most attractive amongst the crowd.

"Why the hell are you guys doing this in the first place," I demand in irritation, shooting the two younger boys a bewildered look and gesticulating like a mad man. "Shouldn't you guys have boyfriends or girlfriends or whatever?"

Yoji steps in, his hands raised in an attempt to calm the situation. "KenKen, we're just going out for a bit of socializing." He tilts his head towards the door, referring to the men and women outside waiting patiently. "These socialites love to shower their attentions on beautiful people and, really, it would be a great shame if we didn't agree to go out on a date or two. Besides, we like gifts." He raises his eyebrows knowingly to Schuldich, who lears again in eagerness.

As nonchalantly as possible, I place my hands on my hips and roll my eyes in irritation. "Forget it," I say. "I think I'm just gonna stay home for the night. I may even go out to the grocery store to buy some mayonnaise."

Yoji shrugs, seemingly not bothered by my proclamation. "Suit yourself," he says but I think I see a bit of a twitch in his right eye in reaction to the word 'mayonnaise'.

Shaking my head in exasperation, I turn away and make my way back towards the living room to finish off my sandwich and to prepare myself for a relaxing Friday night at home with the T.V. However, settling onto the couch and glancing out the large windows as I do so, something catches my eye. Or in this case, a particular _someone_.

On the other side of the window within the confines of the fancy condominium beside us, one level below ours, is a tall, handsome redheaded man. The same man, I realize with a jolt, whose dog I accidentally bumped into -- got attacked by, actually -- not but a few days ago. A heat that suspiciously feels like desire suddenly travels down my body towards my nether regions as I watch the mysterious man shrug out of his black suit jacket and loosen his tie from around his neck. Leaving the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, he glides towards the kitchen, presumably to prepare a little something for himself.

"Fuckin' hot, eh?" I jump in surprise at the breathy voice in my ear. Spinning my head, I see Schuldich looking curiously over my shoulder down at the same man I was staring at for what must have been at least five minutes. "What're ya lookin' at Fujisaki for? Is _he _your type?"

Glaring at him, I retort, "I thought you were preparing for a wild night out with your entourage of wealthy and desperate admirers."

He shrugs. "I'm not up for it tonight. Thought maybe I'd spend it with you before I realized the real reason why you're actually staying home tonight." He raises his eyebrows, suggestively, and peers down at the redhead on the other side of the window.

I shrug my shoulders as if I could care less. "He's no one. I just accidentally bumped into him a few days ago and I recognized him, is all."

Ignoring my comment, he continues. "He's a fashion executive called Fujisaki Aya. He's pretty well known in Tokyo though I heard he's been getting some propositions from overseas as well." I turn away as if uninterested but he plows on, mercilessly. "He's popular. The models love him and he's got a lineup of new and trendy fashion designers, hoping to have their work promoted by him. He's got an amazing eye for fashion _and _business." He pauses for a moment before looking at me, knowingly. "And he's gorgeous, of course. He could probably model all the men's wear he's ever promoted."

"That's nice," I say, stuffing my nearly forgotten sandwich down my throat and throwing my attention towards the T.V. remote.

"And he's gay," Schuldich finishes.

I choke on my sandwich and cough into my fist, thumping my chest in an attempt to dislodge a piece of bread crust in my throat. Schuldich disappears and returns after a moment to hand me a glass of water. Gratefully, I nod in thanks and take a sip.

After another bout of silence, I speak up again. "I have no intention of starting a relationship with anyone, much less go around dating someone I hardly know."

Schuldich raises his two hands as if in defence but he's grinning from ear to ear. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just explaining things as it is. You only just recently went through a heartbreaking experience with that cheating ex-boyfriend of yours, after all."

I stare at him for a moment and I nod my head in response, unsure of what to say in response to his unexpected understanding. "Er... yeah," I mumble. "Thanks."

"Though you know," he begins again. "That man is _mighty _handsome. If I had a guy like that, I wouldn't let him slip through my fingers. He appears to be your picture-perfect boyfriend."

I roll my eyes at him, not feeling as irritated as I should be. "So why don't _you _go after him if you think he's so perfect?" Though as I say this, I feel an unmistakeable tightening around my heart that I can't even begin to explain.

"Well," he replies, frowning contemplatively. "I meant, if I were someone like _you _who isn't say...," he trails off, his right handing gesturing at nothing in particular as if searching for something. "Who isn't as beautiful as _me_. I mean, let's be serious. If you looked like _this_," he strikes a pose. "You wouldn't have any boy troubles to complain about but the reality is that not everyone -- hey!"

In irritation, I had thrown the nearest couch cushion directly into his face. I laugh at the angry look he shoots me and his mussed up hair.

I look down at the redhead who is now presently flipping through what must be a fashion magazine on his kitchen counter while munching on a scrumptious-looking sandwich. Somewhere in the back of my head, I wonder if he's eating mayonnaise with it.

I sigh in disappointment. "There's no point in wishing for something that will never be," I tell Schuldich, staring at the unattainable man. "Besides, I probably won't ever see him again." 

* * *

"Doug," I hear a voice exclaim in panic. "Doug, bad dog! C'mere you little brat!"

Groaning incoherently, I lift my head from the concrete sidewalk I just fell on, gingerly feeling the back of my head for any signs of a bump. Slowly, I lift my upper body from the ground only to realize belatedly that I did, in fact, just run into Mr. Perfect again. Wincing inwardly, I think to myself that it's more like I've been running into his _dog _and he just happens to be the unfortunate prince in shining armor with the obligation of rescuing an incompetent who can't seem to defend himself against an attack by a mere dog. Okay, so a gigantic doberman with ample slobber in his deadly jaws but a harmless dog nonetheless.

I see said man currently trying to wrestle the excitable animal away from me, roughly tying his leash to a metal fence before turning his worried, amethyst eyes on me.

"Are you okay," he asks, stretching his hand out to help me get back on my feet. I'm still a little winded from the fall and I stand precariously on my unstable feet. He is frowning down at me in concern now and his warm hands are clutching mine, long graceful fingers curling around my rough, calloused ones. Carefully, he reaches behind me to touch the back of my head, feeling for any sort of bump the way I just did a moment ago. Unconciously, I lean my head back into his warm hand as if to prolong the moment but jerk away suddenly when he speaks up again.

"Your head seems to be fine but I can't really tell from just touching. That was a pretty hard fall, you took. How are you feeling?"

"I'm ah," I begin, dazedly. I'm having a bit of a hard time trying to form coherent sentences with his hand massaging my scalp like that. I swallow and try again. "I think I'm okay. It wasn't as bad as it looked."

Seemingly satisfied with this response, he drops his hands to his sides and I immediately feel the cold air in their absence. He apologizes again and bows his head profusely before turning away to rescue innocent passerbys from Doug's affectionate slobber.

I feel deeply disappointed at his abrupt departure and before I even realize it, I'm calling out to him. "You should really control that dog of yours," I say, realizing at the last moment that I had used that line already.

He turns his head back to regard me, his right hand holding onto the dog's collar in a tight grip. "Like I said the last time we met. I'm just walking this dog for a friend. He's not mine."

A voice is cheering silently in my head at the realization that this man actually _remembers _me. "I suppose you should tell your friend then," I respond, shuffling my feet in nervousness. "Well, maybe I'll see you around again, Fujisaki?" I lift my hand in a shy wave as I prepare to turn away.

But he's regarding me with another penetrating look, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "How," he begins, trailing off in confusion and I realize a little too late at my slip. "How did you know my name?"

"Uh," I respond, intelligently. Sweat is breaking out on my skin and I desperately hope that the intimidating, albeit utterly gorgeous, redhead does not notice. Quickly, I try to regain myself. "Y-you told me the first time we met, remember?"

He narrows his eyes even further. "I don't recall ever telling you," he responds, bluntly.

"Well," I respond, firmly, hoping my voice will make up for my severe lack of confidence and honesty. "You did. I'm Hidaka Ken, you're Fujisaki Aya, and _he_," I point, my finger shaking just slightly at the man's scrutiny. "He's Doug."

As convincing as that may have been, the man is still regarding me skeptically. "I'm sure I would have remembered your name if you had told me," he says, confidently.

Deciding that this conversation would be best left well alone, I back away quickly -- perhaps a little too quickly -- to the corner of the sidewalk to prepare to cross the road, as if that was what I was planning to do all along. I'm hoping profusely that he doesn't realize that was the direction I had actually come from but if my guesses are correct, even little details like this don't seem to pass by this man easily.

"I-I better get goin'," I say, hastily. "I have somewhere to go and, er, I'll see you around!" And with that, I leave the confused redhead behind me, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion and a tinge of irritation.

...To Be Continued. 

* * *

Author's Notes:

Thank you very much to everyone who left a review for the last chapter. It _has _been quite a while (a few years?) since I last updated and I only updated it this time because this chapter was sitting on my computer half-written for the longest time. I may or may not continue this since I'm not following any particular anime fandoms now. For a moment, I just felt a little nostalgic and momentarily decided to pick up where I last left off.


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Ken moves into the busy streets of Tokyo, and finds himself rooming with four super models. They are determined to transform Ken from the plain 'boy-next-door' to the hottie, they are sure is hidden underneath. But who to impress? How about that passionate-looking redhead, who lives in the apartment building next to them?

Author's Notes: Based on the movie, "Head Over Heels" starring Monica Potter and Freddie Prince Jr.

Warnings: Swearing and yaoi; Ran x Ken, and a surprise pairing :)

* * *

**Head Over Heels**

Chapter Four:

"All right, so let me get this straight," Yoji interrupts me in the middle of my story, slamming his left palm flat onto the marble surface of the kitchen counter. I jump in surprise while Nagi continues to eat his salad serenely, evidently already accustomed to Yoji's antics.

"You randomly meet some guy out on the streets who just so happens to be one of the hottest, young figures in the fashion industry. You end up meeting the guy again and he _remembers _you even, God only knows why he would," Yoji ducks just in time as I attempt to swat his head, angrily. "And after a somewhat awkward introduction, he now knows your name. So, tell me again why you won't even consider getting into his pants?"

Rolling my eyes at his choice of words, I begin anew. "Nevermind the fact that he's completely out of my league, I also probably have the world's worst luck with relationships. If there's gonna be another guy cheating on me with a model, considering his line of work, it will most definitely be Mr. Perfect here."

"And you won't even give it a chance? Just because of Kase?"

"It wasn't just Kase, Yoji. I apparently attract the cheating type," I tell him, somberly, simply leaving it at that. "And yeah, he's attractive but I'm not _that _attracted to him. He's not really my type."

"Is that why you keep looking over my shoulder to stare out the window," Nagi asks me without looking up. Beside him, Yoji snickers and beams proudly at the younger model.

"Well, he's nice to _look _at obviously but he's totally not boyfriend material," I shoot back after a moment's surprise and hesitation, glaring at him.

"Why not? Isn't he suppose to be Mr. Perfect," Schuldich adds to my utter frustration as he saunters into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Or perhaps a bottle of beer as he is wont to do.

"I don't really mean he's perfect when I call him that. Even Fujisaki Aya is bound to have flaws." At this point, I'm starting to wonder if my protests are meant to convince my stubborn roommates or my inner self that seems to really, really like Mr. Perfect.

"We could probably try to find these so-called flaws tonight," Schuldich continues, predictably gulping down a bottle of Asahi. "He seems to be settling in for the night."

Narrowing my eyes in irritation, I wonder to myself what in the world I had gotten myself into by talking to my roommates about my love life, or lack thereof in my case. Concluding that it may take too much out of me to even attempt to dissuade them from their stubborn curiosity, I slowly follow them towards the living area where the large windows conveniently provide us the perfect view of the perfect man. Or "perfect" until proven guilty.

"Why is he holding a baby in his arms," Nagi inquires, softly, but not soft enough for my ears to miss.

"So he's got a love child," I state triumphantly.

"Ken," Yoji retorts, and it looks like it's his turn to be irritated now. "Fujisaki's gay. There's no way that kid is his."

"Well how do we know he's gay? What if he's bisexual? Or maybe the baby was conceived before he came out of the closet and that woman he's with is the mother, and they're the reason he's desperately working to help support --"

"Or maybe," Schuldich cuts in, rolling his eyes at the other two. "The _other_ man in the room holding the diapar bag is the real father and they're just paying Mr. Perfect a visit. See? They're leaving already."

I admit grudgingly, "Yeah, I guess it could be that too." I settle myself onto the expensive settee placed in front of the large windows beside Nagi who had resumed his eating of his salad there. Yoji, having momentarily disappeared before, returns with a pair of binoculars. He's already eagerly peering out of them to get a closer look at whatever Fujisaki is currently busying himself with now that the couple has left.

"I agree with you whole-heartedly that the man is hot, Ken," he speaks up after a moment of what I thought was deep analyzation. "But you gotta admit the guy's pretty boring too. He's been sitting in that position for the past ten minutes doing nothing."

Wrenching the binoculars from his hands without sparring him a glance and ignoring his indignant complaints, I lift it to my eyes to peer through it. "Yoji, he's not doing nothing. He's reading a goddamned book."

"I know," he retorts in annoyance. "That's _boring_."

"No, it means he's intelligent and cultured," I shoot back angrily, quick to defend. Returning my attentions to the redhead, I can't help but mumble, "Kase hated reading and look at the kind of idiot he ended up being."

"So in other words, Mr. Perfect is still Mr. Perfect," Schuldich drawls, completely satisfied with himself.

"No," I say. "It just means we haven't had enough time to fully analyze his character yet. He has flaws, you'll see."

Yoji sighs as if exasperated but the light in his eyes signal that he is actually enjoying this game a little. "I gather we're gonna be here for a while," he says, settling himself down onto the rug and preparing himself for what will probably be a long night.

"So the three of you are just gonna sit here all night, watching this Fujisaki," Schuldich asks, shaking his head incredulously. "Are any of you gonna offer to make my dinner?"

"Go make your own dinner," Yoji says, clearly frustrated with his roommate's inability to take care of himself. "Or order in a pizza."

"You know I don't eat _pizza_," the redhead retorts as if deeply offended. "But I think I will have some of that vegan stuff down the street."

Nagi snaps his head around in surprise. "I thought you didn't like vegan, Schuldich?"

"It's not as if I don't like it but I just can't make it my regular diet the way you and Omi do."

Nagi scoffs at him and turns back around. "I think we had a conversation like this before when Omi and I first settled on buying a pleather couch instead of the leather you initially wanted. Hasn't killed you yet, has it, Schu?"

Taking away my attention from Fujisaki for a mere moment -- who is still reading and, I admit, is already becoming a little boring to watch -- I share an incredulous look with Yoji who smirks at me and rolls his eyes at the other two.

"That was probably the longest sentence I've ever heard from Nagi," I whisper, leaning over the arm of the settee so the others can't hear. "He's normally so quiet."

Yoji shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly but there is a hint of pride in his green eyes. "Nagi and Omi are animal rights activists. For Nagi, though, it's the only thing he feels truly passionate about. He could probably go an entire night ranting about it if you only gave him the chance. Unfortunately, the fashion industry isn't always animal-friendly."

I immediately attempt to picture a furiously ranting Nagi and compare it to the quiet boy I'm already accustomed to seeing. The picture feels completely out of place in my head and I realize that Yoji must know Nagi quite a bit to be able to understand such a foreign part of the boy that people must rarely see. I realize belatedly that Nagi may not want that Moss Burger after all unless they just so happened to introduce a new vegan item to their menu that I haven't heard about yet.

I glance behind me at the couch and the pair of single-seater sofas on either side of it. "I suppose this entire flat is pretty animal-friendly then, right?"

"Or else he'll skin you alive," Yoji drawls, his eyes gleaming. "One time, Schuldich brought home this long, beautiful trench coat with a fur piece on the collar and Nagi nearly had a fit before we were able to calm him down and convince him it was made of synthetic furs."

"And was it really?"

"Of course," Yoji exclaims, as if scandalized. "You may not have seen that side of him yet, KenKen, but trust me when I say that an angry Nagi is not something you can deal with lightly. You don't wanna disregard an animal's well-being in front of him. And to an extent, I agree with him too."

I nod my head in understanding, thinking that this is also the first time I've heard Yoji talk about anything without including a quirky comment or two, but I wisely decide to keep that tidbit to myself. "Gotcha. No fur, no leather, and no animal abuse."

"A wise decision, KenKen," Yoji responds supportively, returning his attention to what is situated on the other side of the window. "Fujisaki seems to have gotten bored of reading too. He's just watching T.V. now."

"I bet he's watching porn," Schuldich says, sauntering back into the living area with a cordless phone in his hand, leaving a disappointed Nagi to his own thoughts. "Even perfect people watch porn every now and then."

"You mean people with a one-track mind," I retort in annoyance.

"Unless, of course, he's already getting some," he continues, completely ignoring my comment and presumably dialing the number of the vegan restaurant he mentioned earlier.

"I can't understand how the guy can still look like he just walked out of a photo shoot wearing those ugly sweatpants and a wife-beater," Yoji comments, looking through the binoculars with interest. "If the guy's got any sort of flaw, it must be in his personality. Ken, this may be harder than I thought. You're gonna have to meet him in person again to help solve this mystery."

"What's he doing now," I inquire, not bothering to respond to his unhelpful conclusion.

"Still watching T.V... oops, nevermind. He just got up again."

"And?"

"And he's... playing with a sword."

"_Playing_ with a sword," I ask skeptically, squinting my eyes in an attempt to get a better view of our neighbour and cursing inwardly at my less than perfect vision.

Yoji waves a hand in my general direction, his eyes never leaving the binoculars. "Foolin' around with it like those samurai dudes. Whatever you call it."

Eyes widening in surprise, I eagerly grab the binoculars from Yoji's equally greedy hands. Fujisaki has apparently stripped off the wife-beater Yoji had previously mentioned and is now in the middle of his expansive living area, away from the couch and coffee table, forming a series of complicated and fluid movements with a long, single-edged sword in his tight grip.

"Oh... wow," I breath appreciatively, taking in his strong, lean arms and following the trail of sweat down his taut stomach almost hungrily.

"Let me see, let me see," Yoji exclaims, his eager hands forcefully trying to wrench the binoculars from my tight hold.

"No, I'm not done yet!"

"What are you two looking at," a lilted voice asks us and I realize, without tearing my eyes away, that Omi had just returned home.

"They're spying on Fujisaki Aya," Nagi speaks up helpfully. "Ken has a crush on him."

"Nagi," I cry in denial, my cheeks blushing furiously in embarassment. "I do not --"

Roughly, a pair of hands successfully wrench the binoculars away from me, promptly cutting me off mid-charade. I look up, glaring into a pair of clear, blue eyes framed by a mane of beautiful, flaming red hair. Schuldich snorts at me and peers through the binoculars to see what has gotten me and Yoji so worked up. When he fails to make a comment, presumably because he's found himself at a loss for words, I smirk at the others in satisfaction.

"Fujisaki?" Omi repeats, looking beyond the window curiously. "I didn't realize he's been our neighbour all this time. What a coincidence! I was just with him at the photoshoot for the Hakone-project. I guess he was able to return home faster than I did."

"You may not wanna mention to him that we live up here, lest he realizes that we can spy on him," Yoji advises wisely. "That would surely keep us from having this much fun in the future."

Omi shakes his head in exasperation and shares a long look with Nagi. The two of them are looking and acting very much like they're older than the rest of us.

"I've come to the conclusion," Schuldich announces loudly. "That this man has absolutely _no_ flaws. That body is utter perfection. Ken, if you're not gonna make a move, can I have him?"

"No," I exclaim, scandalized, reaching for the binoculars once again but Omi gets to them first. "I mean, what the hell are you asking _me_ for? I never wanted him in the first place!"

"Yeah, very convincing," Schuldich retorts, learing at me. "Try saying that when you haven't just spent the better part of your evening drooling over him."

Preparing myself for an indignant response, the doorbell rings just in time and Schuldich scurries away to answer it, ostensibly to get the food.

"Ken, I didn't know you had a crush on Fujisaki," Omi says to me excitedly.

"I do _not_ have a crush on him. I just...," Omi drops the binoculars into my lap and I eagerly peer through it again, completely losing my train of thought. Fujisaki has sheethed the sword into its scabbard, placed it neatly back into its display case against the wall beside the bookshelf, and is now doing a series of stretches on the carpeted floor, his muscles rippling with the effort.

Licking my lips shakily, I admit grudgingly, "He is pretty flawless physically-speaking."

"Well, if you like him so much, Ken, why don't you just go for it," Omi pipes up, his big, blue eyes regarding me in confusion.

Beside him, Yoji snorts. "We've already had this conversation countless times over, Omi. He won't 'cause he's a coward."

"I am not," I exclaim in outrage, glaring at the brunette who simply smiles in response. "Besides, what sort of situation would I ever find myself in that would require me to spend time with him? I'm not a model like you guys and there's no way the guy would even spare me a second glance unless it was to save me from an attack by his friend's dog."

"Well," Omi begins tentatively. "He _is_ hosting a party this Saturday night."

"Oh, I heard about that too," Schuldich exclaims eagerly, returning with a ceramic bowl of fried rice with tofu and cashews. "We should totally go crash it."

For a moment, I don't know what to say but I quickly gather myself together. "We can't just crash his party! It's not like any of us got an invitation."

"Ken," Yoji begins to explain slowly, as if speaking to an ill-educated child. "By party, Omi means a business opportunity disguised as a social gathering for those in the fashion industry, the majority of which will be Fujisaki's current or potential clients. It's an opportunity for him to appeal to members of the upper echelons of the business who will only further boost his career. If this guy is any fun at all, he will _want_ models to be there, invited or not."

"That's great and all but in case the lot of you forgot already," and I pause for emphasis. "I'm _not_ a model. Far from one actually."

The four models regard one another with mischievous looks and a shiver runs down my spine. I'm almost afraid to hear what they might say in response to that.

"He could probably fit into my clothes," Schuldich murmurs, stirring his chopsticks around his bowl contemplatively.

"We could say he got his tan from a salon," Yoji adds quietly, grinning from ear to ear. Already I can hear the gears turning in his head as a deceptive plan undoubtedly emerges.

"If you have time after your classes this week, Ken, we can even go out to do some shopping," Omi speaks up eagerly, nearly hopping up and down in his uncontainable excitement. "None of us have your particular dark skin tone but we can go to M.A.C. together to buy the proper foundation and --"

"What," I exclaim in disbelief, my brain short-circuiting in an attempt to comprehend the words coming out of Omi's mouth. "You want me to go shopping for _makeup_? Omi, I've never had to wear makeup in my life and I don't plan on starting."

"Ken, all models wear makeup," Schuldich jumps in, irate. "And this is the perfect opportunity for you to start."

"I don't need makeup," I say firmly. "I don't need any of this. In fact, I don't even need to go to this... this 'social gathering' because --"

"Because you 'don't have a crush on Fujisaki', right. We've heard that already," Yoji drawls, his lips spreading in a smirk that I desperately want to wipe off. "Ken, just go to the party and we promise you won't regret it."

"You're wrong about that, Yoji. I'm predicting that I will most definitely regret losing my sanity and whatever credibility I have left."

"That, you may regret but in exchange you'll have one beautiful redhead warming your bedsheets," Yoji responds without a beat, winking perversely.

"That would only be if he even buys the whole model getup. Trust me, I haven't been exactly impressing him with my grace and finesse," I mumble, a hint of disappointment in myself evident in my tone of voice. Automatically, my mind conveniently provides me a succession of images of the two times I encountered the fashion executive. Both times, I recall with an inward groan, he had witnessed me sprawled on my back with an overly eager doberman panting and drooling on top of me.

"Don't worry, Ken," Nagi finally speaks up, looking at me with an anticipatory gleam in his dark brown eyes. "We'll make sure you look the part. We're experts after all."

Omi enthousiastically bobs his head up and down in agreement, clearly showing his anticipation as well. Yoji and Schuldich watch silently with expectant looks on their faces.

Throwing my head into my hands in growing frustration and nervousness, a growl makes its way past my throat. After a moment, during which my four roommates are in no doubt regarding me with incredulous looks, I lift my head again to face them, my hair in slight disarray.

"All right," I give in, finally. "Once. I'll try it just once. But don't blame me if it doesn't work."

* * *

A collective cheer erupts from the confines of the single flat situated on the 18th floor of a fancy, high-class apartment complex. Fujisaki Aya pauses in mid-stretch but quickly disregards whatever he may have heard and quickly chalking it up to merely his imagination. Instead, he gingerly pushes himself off the cream carpet of his expensive living area and saunters into the kitchen several feet away for a much needed glass of water, completely oblivious to the plan forming in the minds of four, vexing super models.

...To Be Continued.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm surprised to hear that so many of you are the same ones who read the first version all those years ago... just so you know, I was in high school when I first started and now I'm nearing the end of my university career too. It's as if we're all growing up together, haha! I'll be slowly churning out the chapters when I have time. Chapter 5 is already in the works but I'm in the middle of exams (I'm sure many of you can relate) and work is slowly mounting up. Thanks for coming back to support me and, to all newcomers, thank you for taking the time to read this.


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Ken moves into the busy streets of Tokyo, and finds himself rooming with four super models. They are determined to transform Ken from the plain 'boy-next-door' to the hottie, they are sure is hidden underneath. But who to impress? How about that passionate-looking redhead, who lives in the apartment building next to them?

Author's Notes: Based on the movie, "Head Over Heels" starring Monica Potter and Freddie Prince Jr.

Warnings: Swearing and yaoi; Ran x Ken, and a surprise pairing :)

* * *

**Head Over Heels****:**

Chapter Five:

Much to my disappointment, the week passes by incredibly quickly. As promised, Omi took me shopping during the early evening of the Wednesday following a number of grueling hours of instructing a brand new class of students at one of the high schools I frequently teach at. Time had went by in a blur as Omi expertly chose colours and shades, none of which looked particularly different to my untrained eyes, and worked them into my skin with deft hands and experimenting with countless items. It seemed an eternity went by before the young model finally wiped the makeup off my face with a cloth soaked with what must be some sort of makeup-removal liquid. He assured me later that the entire adventure only took up a few hours of my time and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I could have spent those few hours doing some weight training at the gym or playing soccer with the local kids in the park.

I received a call on my cell phone from Yuriko sometime during the week who evidently just wanted to see how I was coping with my new home and flatmates. I haven't seen her since the day I moved out of her place and I felt a surge of guilt at the thought. We spent a good number of hours talking on the phone about nothing in particular and I ended up mentioning, albeit reluctantly, my predicament with the neighbouring redhead. As per usual, Yuriko was very supportive and gave me the advice I knew I wasn't going to ever hear from my promiscuous roommates.

"What I can't understand," Yuriko was saying carefully, munching on something loudly on the other end of the line. "Is why you failed to mention to me that you've been living with a bunch of _models_ for the past week and a half. I mean, we're best friends! Isn't sharing an integral part of our friendship?"

Rolling my eyes but very much accustomed to this sort of behaviour, I said, "Yuriko, all four of them are most likely already preoccupied with a lineup of men and women ready to shower them with expensive gifts and fine dining. Even if they _were_ your type, they wouldn't spare people like us a second glance. It's a whole other world they're living in."

"Oh, I'm not looking for anything more than just eye-candy, Ken. I've long since concluded that men are good-for-nothing assholes who want nothing more than to get into your pants -- and I'm sure you can relate, dear." I decided not to mention that my best friend just grouped me along with these "good-for-nothing assholes". "But these model friends of yours do seem to like you enough to help you through this whole Fujisaki fiasco."

"Well," I began to explain, also a little confused at their antics and wondering in my head if it was merely boredom that got them going. "I suppose it's 'cause I'm their roommate and that makes me the exception. They wouldn't have given me a second glance otherwise."

"Or perhaps it's your boyish charms at work," Yuriko retorted, giggling insanely like a lunatic school girl. "Seriously, you better work those charms when you go to that party this weekend. The next time I call you, I wanna hear something good come out of this."

And with that, she ended the call abruptly, leaving me confused and slightly irritated on the other end.

Friday suddenly creeps up behind me and I face it with nerves. Presently, Yoji and Schuldich are spending the better part of the evening teaching me how to walk like a model on the catwalk, swinging their bodies here and jutting their hips there. I reluctantly follow their steps and movements, mimicking the strut of their hips unsuccessfully and concluding quickly that the catwalk must be reserved for the overactive ego. All this time, Nagi sits on the stool by the kitchen counter, looking on in silent amusement and sending me encouraging words every now and then. It isn't long before I collapse onto the cream pleather of the couch, whining in frustration and anger at the situation and at myself.

"Not bad, KenKen," Yoji says, seating himself on the couch beside me. "You're getting better."

"You mean, I look less like an idiot than before," I grumble, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning on the T.V., surfing through the channels thoughtlessly.

Omi returns home at that moment and a greeting barely reaches my mouth before I am hoisted from the sanctuary of the couch and dragged unceremoniously down the hall. Schuldich and Yoji follow at a much more sedate pace and Nagi joins us in Schuldich's bedroom a mere moment later while Omi rifles through the hundreds of pieces of expensive clothing in Schuldich's walk-in closet. The rest of my evening is spent trying on different ensembles of formal evening wear and feeling extremely out of place as the boys force me into clothing piece after clothing piece, none of which suit my personal style or taste. I conclude inwardly that I probably won't have a chance at showing Fujisaki my so-called "boyish charms", as I forcefully try to fit my muscular and bulky frame into another one of Schuldich's skin-tight long-sleeved shirts.

Saturday night finally comes along and my forehead and neck are sweating profusely. Omi and Nagi ended up picking out an ensemble of neutral shades for me: an elegant, slim-fitted, pinstriped top untucked beneath a casual, dark gray waistcoat and a pair of tight, black, low-rise trousers. Reluctantly, I loosely knot a black tie around my neck, allowing it to hang just slightly off my neck casually the way Yoji had insisted looks perfectly sensual. Looking myself up and down in Schuldich's full-length mirror, I decide quickly that it would probably be for the best if Yuriko did _not_ see a photo of my getup tonight and made a note in my head to not encourage any picture-taking amongst my overly zealous model friends.

Cautiously, I step out of Schuldich's bedroom and slowly walk down the hall, my vegan leather shoes clicking softly on the hardwood flooring.

"You look fantastic, Ken," Omi exclaims, running up towards me eagerly. His heavily made up eyes peer into mine and he frowns slightly, licking a finger and rubbing it into my right eyelid where my makeup must have smudged slightly. Then he steps back and admires his handywork, "Perfect! You're gonna knock Fujisaki's socks off tonight!"

I groan. "I still can't believe I let you guys talk me into doing this."

"I bet it was more the prospect of seeing Fujisaki than our talking that really convinced you into going," Yoji says, grinning mischievously from his reclining position on one of the single-seater sofas.

Ignoring his comment, I walk towards the large windows, feigning an interest in the sea of cars situated below us and failing miserably if the looks I'm receiving from Yoji is any indication. My eyes slowly travel up the length of the other building and they land hungrily on Fujisaki as he manoeuvers around his flat at a quick pace, shouting orders to a group of delivery men carrying platters upon platters of what must be expensive finger foods. His eyes are narrowed and his posture is stiff and forbearing; he looks like a man very much in control of himself and the situation. The complete opposite of me, I think forlornly.

"Nagi, Schuldich," Yoji calls, impatience evident in his tone. "You guys ready yet?"

"Almost," a soft, lilted voice calls back from within the confines of one of the bedrooms down the hallway.

"Is Schuldich _still_ in the washroom," I wonder incredulously, dragging my eyes away from the busy fashion executive, who is already welcoming invitees into his beautifully decorated apartment. I collapse onto the couch adjacent to Yoji.

"Hair," Yoji says simply, gesturing to his own like that explained everything. "You're looking good today."

"Thanks," I mumble, fidgeting with the left cuff of my mid-length sleeve.

"Stop that," Nagi orders primly, suddenly walking up behind me and slapping my nervous fingers away.

"So are we all ready yet," Schuldich asks, sauntering into the room expectantly, swishing his beautiful long mane this way and that.

Omi rolls his eyes and jumps off the stool he was sitting on by the kitchen counter. "About time, Schu. Let's go!"

* * *

The beat of the music resounds loudly throughout Fujisaki's apartment, leaking through the door and down the vast hallway. As a servant steps aside to allow the five of us into the room, Schuldich and Yoji immediately make their way towards a group of middle-aged women holding glasses of champagne in their delicate hands.

"Stop wringing your hands," Nagi whispers to me sharply before making his way into a throng of people standing close to the kitchen counter where a hired barman works deligently behind it, mixing colourful drinks at guests' requests.

Omi pats me on the back encouragingly and nods towards the middle of the room where Fujisaki is making small talk with a small crowd of elderly men in confining suits, young and willful women draped on their arms and listening to their conversation, half-heartedly. Gathering myself, I look around the room discretely, measuring myself up to the other guests in the room and deciding I don't look half as bad as I thought. I consider strutting through the crowd as Yoji instructed but decide against it when I see other men doing so in an attempt to impress the wealthy ladies, young and old, and failing miserably.

Instead, I slowly wander through the crowd, accepting a martini from a passing server, and indirectly make my way towards the redhead who is busy jumping from one crowd to the next, evidently attempting to make fun conversation with just about everybody within the enclosed space. For about a quarter of an hour, I attempt to follow his general direction in hopes that he might notice and even recognize me. An idea of how our conversation could play out runs through my head and I'm feeling less and less sure of myself as I study the professionalism of all the wealthy people in the room.

"Why, I don't believe I've seen you anywhere before," a nasal voice suddenly pipes up from behind me. Turning around, I see a portly man with alcohol-induced rosy cheeks, his eyes squinting as he scruntinizes me from behind his small gold-framed glasses. "Are you new to the industry, my boy? Which agency are you signed under?"

"Er," I respond intelligently, unconciously rubbing the back of my neck in a very un-model-like way. "Lazaris," I finally say, after wracking my brain for the agency I vaguely remember Omi mentioning during one of his ramblings.

"Lazaris," he repeats, his eyes widening in surprise. "I suppose you know Yamamoto then? I believe he's currently their top agent --"

"I'm sorry, sir," I say hastily, downing my martini in one go and pointing in a random direction. "I think someone's calling me over there. It was nice to meet you... sir!" Bowing hastily, I manoeuver around the crowd, ignoring the portly man's frown at being disregarded so readily.

I make my way towards the kitchen counter where the barman is currently conversing happily with a bored-looking Nagi. I put my empty glass down on the expensive stone counter top before turning back towards the party. Much to my amusement, Nagi doesn't seem to be aware of the gaggle of onlookers, male and female, hidden in the shadows and sending hungry looks in his direction. Yoji does, however, and I watch in growing delight as he saunters over to the kitchen-turned-bar casually to place a large hand on Nagi's shoulder in a familiar way. I laugh to myself silently but out of the corner of my eye, I notice another elderly man sending an inquiring look my way and I immediately cough into my hand discretely before turning away from him.

Since the first interrogation incident, I notice more men regarding me with the same questioning looks, no doubt trying to figure out where I fit into the fashion spectrum. I make a point to avoid these men and their curious ogling while keeping Fujisaki within my line of sight. I do receive more appreciative and alluring looks from women as they look me up and down, automatically matching each article of clothing to famous labels, mentally calculating the total cost of the night's ensemble, then nodding slightly to themselves in apparent approval. Some of these women attempt to lure me into their inane, rich-people conversations but I merely nod my head in apology, efficiently skirting a situation that I feel should be best avoided.

After a long moment of simple observation, I realize that each group of elegantly dressed partygoers is graced with the presence of a tall model or two, as my roommates assured me the week before. But I notice, to my utter disappointment, Fujisaki making googly eyes at each of these models, suggestively kissing the hands of one or sensually brushing his lips across the cheek of another and whispering undoubtedly lewd comments into women's ears while they giggle and blush in delight. At one point in the evening, I catch one of Fujisaki's pale hands lightly groping the bottom of a very beautiful and effeminate male model who looks no older than 21 years. A voice in the back of my head encourages me to join one of these crowds of fashion gurus to await my turn but I quash the thought immediately.

Feeling a little disgusted at the display and deciding that the situation is not worth the time I initially believed it deserved, my eyes search the apartment for one of my roommates, finally landing on Schuldich who is currently standing in the middle of a crowd of starry-eyed admirers. Bowing my head slightly, I walk towards him.

"Schuldich," I say quietly. He turns around and looks at me expectantly. "I'm going home."

"Why," he demands, narrowing his blue eyes. Behind him, men and women are looking at me reprovingly for interrupting what must have been a very important conversation about Schuldich's ethereal beauty.

I shrug, looking away from the others to give my roommate my full attention. "He... I think I was wrong about him. I'm gonna call it a night."

Schuldich studies me for another moment, before shrugging and bidding me a goodnight. I turn away to stride towards the entrance, intent on escaping the stuffiness of the room.

Out in the hallway, I'm making my way towards the elevators when I see a gaggle of semi-drunk middle-aged ladies, making obnoxious noises and laughing hysterically while waiting for the lift. I make a beeline for the stairwell instead, intent on getting home as soon as possible. Taking my first steps onto the concrete floor of the stairwell, I vaguely notice a man sitting to the right on the steps, no doubt trying to avoid the hubbub of Fujisaki's party. Paying him no heed, I briskly walk down the steps of the staircase until a deep and utterly recognizable voice calls out to me.

"Ken," the voice asks, confusion evident in his tone. I spin around, nearly losing my footing on one of the steps and grabbing onto the handrail to steady myself. I thank the gods that I was able to keep myself from falling flat on my face in front of the now infamous Fujisaki Aya.

"F-Fujsaki Aya," I stammer, in confusion and nervousness. I can hear my heart pounding against my ribcage.

"Aya is fine," he responds blandly, his eyes sparkling in quiet amusement. He looks me up and down, scrutinizing my getup and I conclude quickly that he probably has no interest in the total cost of my ensemble. "Were you at my party? I didn't see you."

_That's great_, I think to myself in disappointment. _I just spent the entire evening following you around like a lost puppy and you don't even notice me._

"Er yeah, I was," I respond, tilting my head down in embarrassment and trying not to allow the disappointment in my voice heard. "But I'm kind of tired so I decided to just call it a night."

He regards me with another scrutinizing look. "So," he begins slowly, gesturing to my -- or my _roommates'_ -- choice of attire. "You're a model, then?"

"Er," I say, my second most intelligent response of the evening. "Yeah, I'm a model."

He narrows his eyes at me in suspicion. "What are you really, Ken," he asks, quietly, after what seems like an eternity.

My shoulders sag in defeat and I grip the handrail, a hint of a nervous smile on my lips. "My... my roommates are the ones who are models and they...," I trail off, gesturing to the expensive clothes I'm adorning. "They decided to have some fun and play dress up with me. I'm actually an athletics instructor for the high schools and middle schools in the area."

Snorting quietly he crosses his arms in front of him and rests them on his knees. "What an adventure that must be. I have to work with them everyday but to _live_ with models," he says, leaving the rest of his statement unsaid while shaking his head in exasperation.

Feeling a little defensive, I retort, "They're not _that_ bad. I mean, they have good intentions... usually."

Aya studies me curiously, his beautiful amethyst gaze boring into me with an intensity that is leaving my entire body warm. To my utter surprise, he uncrosses one of his pale hands to lightly pat the ground next to him. "Care to stay and have a chat with me, Ken?"

* * *

It must have only been a half hour at the most but it feels like a good few hours have flown by before Aya and I are interrupted by a panicking voice demanding Aya's attention from the entrance of the stairwell. A tall man with dark hair and glasses, wearing a cream-coloured armani suit, is speaking brusquely with the slightly shorter redhead, a hint of urgency in his tone. I watch curiously as Aya's shoulder sag a little before sending the other man away in annoyance.

Finally, Aya turns to me and I regard him with an expectant look, standing up slowly and trying to hide my disappointment. I know it's inevitable that the night has to end at some point and Aya has a busy role tonight, playing the part of host as well as the up and coming fashion executive of the century.

"Sorry," Aya beings quietly, giving me a genuinely apologetic look. "I thought my ass-kissing was pretty much done for the evening but as it turns out, I've still got one more to deal with."

I raise my eyebrows in slight amusement. "Judging by your reaction, this must be quite the ass you're gonna be kissing."

"The worst," he says, nodding in confirmation. He regards me with another intense look as if preparing to say more but then he nods abruptly, bidding me farewell.

"See you later, Aya," I mumble in disappointment, the smile disappearing from my lips as I turn around to make my way down the stairs.

"Wait," his voice interrupts me once again and I raise my eyes hopefully to meet his. "Are... are you busy next Friday night?"

My heart is pounding loudly and I desperately hope that Aya can't hear it. "I think so." Inwardly, I think to myself that I any plans I may have made just flew out the window, priorities be damned.

"Would you like to go out for...," he trails off and I realize elatedly that Fujisaki Aya, renowned fashion guru and currently one of the hottest young men in the industry, is actually _nervous_.

"For a date," I prompt, inquiringly, a hint of a smile on my lips.

"Yeah," he confirms, his lips twitching in a hesitant smile in response. "How about a date next Friday?"

Trying to contain my excitement, I reply slowly, "Sure, that would be great." He studies me for another mere moment, his eyes glimmering with what I suspect is anticipation, before nodding abruptly and turning around to exit the stairwell. I realized early on that night that Aya is a man of very few words and so am not perturbed by his abruptness that may come off as rude to others. Inwardly, I think to myself in satisfaction that the fashion executive he presents to his guests is actually wholly different from the real Fujisaki Aya who I was lucky enough to acquaint myself with tonight.

With those thoughts in mind, I finally take the steps that lead me down the staircase and out into the night air.

* * *

"How _romantic_," a voice exclaims, following the loud slamming of the front door and hurried footsteps running across the hardwood floor towards the living area. I look up from the T.V. as Schuldich lands himself bodily onto the springy comfort of the couch. Yoji comes up from behind me and ruffles my hair good-naturedly.

"So tell us how ingenious we are, KenKen. I've been waiting all night," the brunet says, grinning at me cheerfully. Nagi saunters in quietly behind him, seating himself on the single-seater sofa to my left and regarding me with a knowing and somewhat mischievous smile.

"Tell us what happened, Ken," Omi cries excitedly, bouncing from foot to foot on the expensive rug. "Tell us, tell us!"

Grinning from ear to ear, I begin to recount the details of the evening and the time I spent with Aya until Schuldich interrupts me to my utter annoyance.

"That's nice and everything but what did you guys _talk_ about," he demands, slapping me on the knee impatiently.

I frown a little, trying to remember our exact conversation. "Er, not much, I guess. I told him a bit about me and he talked about his work. It turns out he absolutely hated the party," I explain, laughing a little to myself and shaking my head at my previous disappointment and disgust.

"That's it," Yoji asks, raising his eyebrows and resting his right arm on my shoulders. "That's all you talked about?"

"Well, what else would we talk about," I respond, irate. "I've no interest in politics or literature and he could probably care less about sports. And I would really much rather hear more about --"

"No Ken," Schuldich interrupts once more, slicing his hand through the air in an abrupt cutting motion in front of me. "We mean _other_ things like... would he be top or bottom? Do you know if he wears boxers or briefs?"

"Stop it, Schu," Omi exclaims, his cheeks reddening at the thought. "Ken's right, you guys _do_ have a one-track mind!"

"I think he wears briefs," Yoji answers Schuldich, his head tilted to the side in contemplation while ignoring Omi's banter. "Better to practice his katana-wielding skills with, don't you think?"

"Well, you're not gonna find out anytime soon," I exclaim in utter horror, pushing Yoji's arm away in disgust and sticking my tongue out at the disappointed expression on his face. "But he _did_ ask me out on a date," I state triumphantly to a sudden eruption of cheers and praise.

The four of us spend the rest of the evening watching T.V. inattentively and chatting about the guests we met at the party and what we -- or Schuldich -- thought about the new Victoria Secret model and her gangly and waif-like appearance and drunken demeanor. However, the cheerful conversation takes a turn for the worst when I can't help but notice Nagi glaring disapprovingly in the direction of Aya's apartment.

"What's wrong, Nagi," I ask curiously, getting up from the comfort of the couch and wandering over to see what has the younger boy so upset.

"Nothing's wrong," he responds, glancing at me quickly and stepping towards me to block my path. "It was just something I saw outside."

I raise my eyebrows at his attempt to thwart my attentions. "You were looking at Aya. What happened?" Curiosity getting the better of me, I sidestep my way to the large windows to peer through it, my eyes landing on the familiar sight of Aya's now empty apartment. Empty save for two lone figures standing by the window, looking out into the night serenely and enjoying their glasses of champagne in each other's company. I could interpret the scene as very innocent, as two good friends having a final drink before taking their separate ways, but the unfamiliar and warm sparkle in Aya's gaze has me thinking twice.

In fascination and horror, my eyes follow the path of Aya's muscled arm as he brushes a lock of hair away from his companion's pale complexion, her cheeks blushing hotly from either the champagne or the intense look from the man in front of her. They're standing closer together than before, closer than I have ever been with him, and I force myself to tear my eyes away from the sight.

"She could be his sister," Omi suggests, tentatively, and I realize with a start that the others have gathered behind me to stare at the scene.

"Ken, this is nothing," Schuldich insists adamantly when he sees the expression on my face. "I'm sure it's nothing. Aya's gay remember? Everyone knows that."

"Or maybe he's not," Yoji speaks up, a hint of anger in his tone, and everyone turns their head back towards the apartment.

Aya is leaning over the young girl with his lips pressed against hers. His now empty glass is sitting on the window sill, placed there presumably to free his hands which are now wrapped around her tiny waist in a tight grip as they kiss sweetly.

Suddenly, a large hand covers my eyes and another one is placed on my shoulder, pushing me gently away from the window.

"Forget it, KenKen," Yoji murmurs sadly. I can see the disappointment in his eyes as well. "A guy like that isn't worth your time or your tears."

I nod mutely, still unsure of what to say and realizing that the tears will come eventually that night. Somewhere in the back of my mind, an unwelcome image of myself crying into Yuriko's comforter while holding an open tub of Haagen-Dazs and surrounded by piles of wadded up tissues, pops into my head. I suppose it's about time I pay my best friend a visit anyway.

My roommates are preparing themselves a light snack in the kitchen before turning in for a good night's rest. I'm not looking forward to sleeping in my small bed by myself with the image of Aya and his mystery girl making out in the middle of his apartment resounding through my head. But I can't bring myself to join the others as they continue their inane chatter, making jokes here and there in an attempt to lighten the situation.

Reluctantly, I turn back towards the window, thinking of pulling the curtains together to hide the image of a two-timing Fujisaki Aya from my eyes. Out of habit, my eyes flick towards the other apartment and I notice that they seemed to have done the same. Only their silhouettes are visible through Aya's -- I mean, Fujisaki's -- expensive curtains but I can still make out their figures separated from their previous embrace. Sighing in disappointment and readying myself for another drowning of sorrows, I reach for our own curtains but stop abruptly at a peculiar sight. The young girl is standing off to the side of the closed curtains, looking out towards the scene of the city through the window. The curtains reveal the silhouetted form of what must be Aya -- Fujisaki -- gripping a long object in his hand and lurking suspiciously behind her as one with ill-intentions would lurk behind an unsuspecting prey.

Suddenly, Aya's form raises the object -- a baseball bat! -- high into the air, taking a long and violent swing at the unguarded victim who is still sipping her champagne.

"No!" I cry, startling my four roommates from their conversation. I hear pounding footsteps behind me as they rush to see what's wrong.

The young girl notices too late what is behind her and I can only watch in silent horror as her body collapses sideways to the ground, behind the curtain and out of sight. Desperately, I rush to the next window on the left, then the next, in an attempt to get a better view of the scene.

"Ken, what happened," Omi cries hysterically, worry evident in his tone. "Why did you scream like that?"

"I... I just...," I can barely form a coherent sentence, much less explain the exact details of what I saw. I can vaguely make out the silhouette of Aya crouching down and doing something. If my hunches are correct, he must be dragging the prone figure of his victim across the floor.

"Ken," Yoji demands, firmly, appearing right behind me. "What the _hell_ just happened? What did you see?"

"I'm... I'm not sure, Yoji," I respond, my breath coming out in shorts gasps. "I... I thought I saw... but there's no _way_ I could have seen... Aya would _never_..."

Abruptly, a pair of hands grip my shoulders, spinning me around to face a pair of brilliant blue eyes narrowed in confusion and irritation. "Ken," Schuldich says, shaking my shoulders momentarily to make sure he has my attention. "What did you see?"

But I'm still shaking my head in confusion at him, unwilling to believe in what I just saw. "Sch-Schu, I think I just...," I gulp down the lump in my throat and I try again. "I _think_ I just saw Aya kill someone."

"_What?_"

"No, there's no way --"

"Ken, it's probably your imagination."

"I think you're tired, Ken," Schuldich states with finality, his eyes boring into me, but I shake my head furiously in response.

"No guys," I say, panic rising in my voice. "I really saw something... something _happen_ in that apartment! I mean, it was kind of hard to make out with that damn curtain in the way but --"

I cut myself off abruptly at the sceptical looks on the others' faces. I'm beginning to wonder myself if what I just saw was my mind playing tricks on me. I shrug off Schuldich's tight grip and turn back towards the other apartment. To my surprise, the curtains have been pushed aside to reveal an empty and clean apartment with no other than Fujisaki Aya himself standing by the large windows, with his left hand hanging in his pocket casually while sipping his champagne once more.

"Sh-she's gone," I exclaim in surprise. "Y-you guys saw her too! One minute she was there and the next, she's... she's..."

"Maybe she just went home," Omi suggests quietly, biting his nails nervously, and looking very unsure of himself as he studies the scene suspiciously. The others seem reluctant to so quickly believe in my brash accusations as well but they are regarding Aya with the same suspicious looks.

"I find that a little hard to believe," I reply and Yoji nods his head affirmatively but still with reluctance. "There's no other way to explain it. No, I'm _sure_ of what I saw."

* * *

In the neighbouring building, Fujisaki Aya continues to sip his glass of champagne by himself in his now empty living room. Anyone who cares to notice would see the tenseness of his shoulders, the firm grip of his fingers on the delicate glass, and the grim set to his lips as he looks out towards the city through the safety of his window.

Unbeknownst to him, another pair of chocolate-coloured eyes are staring down at him in growing horror and unwanted fascination.

...To Be Continued.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I hope everyone enjoyed this looong chapter. I'll try my best to dish out the next one which is already in the works but is turning out much slower than these last two. Positive comments are nice but constructive criticism is always welcome too; I think I may have an addiction to run-on sentences and a second opinion can help me confirm that. Thanks again for your kind comments and encouraging words! Just knowing that people are reading this is keeping me going. ...and I _will_ try to write this story to the end after my French linguistics exam tomorrow.


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